


Just Right

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [15]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Festive Smut, Fluff and Smut, I've always wanted to use that tag, Smut, canonverse lingerie, christmas gifts, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy gives Clarke a most unexpected Christmas present.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 22
Kudos: 142





	Just Right

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a festive smut in which Bellamy makes Clarke a bra for Christmas, set in some AU where they spend their first Christmas on Earth still at the dropship camp. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this. Happy reading!

The bra is too much. _Obviously_ the bra is too much.

Clarke knows that the bra is too much, because she wrote the rulebook for Christmas gift-giving at the the dropship camp. She knows that gifts are to be of low value and little use, but of more sentimental worth – things like painted pebbles or whittled wood.

A bra is a useful item, expensive on the Ark, priceless on the ground. It doesn't fit the gift-giving criteria in the slightest.

There's more to it than that, though. It's too much because it's a _bra_. An undergarment. A really rather personal item, that suggests a certain level of intimacy between the two parties.

In short, a bra is _far too much_ for a Christmas gift from Bellamy.

And yet she feels no burning desire to give it back, or any such thing. It looks like a good, functional bra, and it's made of a kind of soft blue stretchy fabric that is vaguely familiar to her for reasons she cannot quite place. It's not a lacy or elaborate, but it looks robust and comfortable.

"Where did you get this?" She asks, flustered, because that seems an easier question than _why_ _did you get this_?

"I made it." Bellamy says, shrugging.

"You _made_ it?" Goodness. This does make her small painted slat of wood with a portrait of him and his sister look a little feeble, she fears.

"Yeah." He frowns at the floor. "My mum taught me."

She nods. She already knew his mum was a seamstress, but she didn't realise she taught her young son how to make complex undergarments.

She hovers there for a bit, watching him stare at the floor. She's still struggling to process this, if she's being honest. This seems like a big gift and an inappropriately intimate gift but also, frankly, a _really lovely_ gift, and she's not quite sure where to start.

"Thank you." She tries in the end. "It looks like a good bra. It's – it's a big gift. Where did you get all the material?"

He looks up at that, smiling softly. "It's not that big. Your painting must have taken at least as long. And it's just an old shirt of mine – don't worry about it."

An old shirt of Bellamy's. This is his old shirt, chopped and refashioned into a bra for her. He's expecting her to wear his old shirt against her breasts. That's – that's a lot. In this moment, she honestly decides it was easier to form a peace treaty with Trikru than she is finding it here, now, to process the idea that her too-attractive good friend has made her a bra from his own damn shirt.

Sometimes she wonders whether he drives her insane on purpose. He must know she's not immune to his charms, right? He must know that she finds him attractive on a visceral level, as well as enjoying his company and valuing his support. He must know that she would find it pretty damn flustering, to receive a bra from him for Christmas.

A bra he's made with his own hands and his own shirt, just in case that wasn't clear.

"How did you know my size?" She asks, puzzled.

His smile shifts into a smirk. Now he's feeling more confident, apparently. "I borrowed your bra when you were asleep one time."

Her heart sinks. "That one doesn't quite fit me." She acknowledges, eyes on the ground. In truth, it doesn't really fit her _at all_ , these days.

She hears a loud laugh, raises her eyes again to the sight of him apparently well amused by something.

"I know it doesn't, Clarke. Dressmaker's son, remember? Don't worry, it's not exactly the same size as your old one. I think it'll fit you better. I'm feeling confident."

She grins, laughs a little laugh. This is better. This is smirking, cocky Bellamy, and teasing, argumentative Clarke. This is the dynamic she knows and loves – she got a little nervous, there, when it was all bras and awkward stares.

"Thanks, Bellamy. It feels like too much, but I really appreciate it."

He grins, pats her heartily on the shoulder. As if giving bras to good friends is just all in a day's work. Or perhaps it's more than that – as if this is some new level to their beautifully unconventional friendship, as if platonic gifts of underwear are simply a thing they do now.

Clarke smiles and shakes her head at the same time, then goes to change into her new better-fitting bra.

…...

The bra is too much. _Obviously_ the bra is too much.

Bellamy knows that the bra is too much, because it's obvious from Clarke's reaction – shock and confusion and a lot of awkward silence.

He's cursing himself as he wanders off to attend to the Christmas dinner preparations. He should have known the bra would be too much. He should have started with something heartfelt but less intimate – some art supplies, perhaps a little whittled model. In his defence, he's never tried to woo anyone with romantic Christmas gifts before. How could he? As a young guy he never had the money to give gifts, and nor could he get truly close to anyone while he was hiding Octavia. So this is his first attempt to show someone how special they are to him, and he fears he might have slightly overdone it.

He was just trying to do a nice thing, damn it. He's seen the way Clarke spills out of her old bra, has overheard her moaning to Raven about the discomfort of ill-fitting undergarments.

He honestly thought it was a good idea.

He tries to distract himself from his failure for the rest of the day. He ensures that the food will be plentiful and well-cooked, tells some cheerful festive stories to the younger kids, checks that everyone seems to be having a good time.

It's early evening by the time he sees Clarke again. She's heading straight for him, walking with a purposefulness in her stride that seems to suggest she's been looking for him for a while.

He swallows the lump in his throat. She's wearing the new bra. He can tell, because he can see just by looking that she's wearing a bra that actually fits her.

Not that he's staring at her chest or anything. Whatever. He just likes her quite a lot, OK?

"There you are." She says, a little accusing, a lot affectionate.

"Looking for me, Princess?"

She raises her brows but doesn't rise to his teasing. "You having a good Christmas?" She asks instead.

"Yeah, you? How's the new bra?"

Silence falls. He curses himself internally. He just can't learn to leave well enough alone, can he? She's obviously not interested and constantly talking about her damn breast support isn't going to help his case.

"It's great. You really know what you're doing." She says easily.

He sighs in relief. It's OK. She's not being weird about it. She's not -

"How did you know I was wearing it, anyway? Been looking?" She teases, brow quirked.

He wonders what to do, here. She doesn't actually seem annoyed by the idea. Should he just joke along in kind? But he wouldn't want to make her uncomfortable – he already seems to have done enough of that for one day.

"Just checking my work." He says lightly.

"Like you can tell exactly how it fits when I'm wearing a shirt." She scoffs.

"I can get a pretty good idea. It's to do with the way your shirt sits over your chest and -"

"Stop. Stop." She protests, laughing. That's good, right? Laughter is good. Better than all that awkward silence this morning, anyway.

"Sorry. I'm not trying to creep you out." He mutters awkwardly. "I really do just see clothes like that. And it's been a long time since I've had chance to chat about fit like this with my mum, I guess I got carried away."

"You used to discuss girls' tits with your mum?" Clarke teases, suppressing a smile.

He can't help but grin. She has a unique gift, does Clarke. She never fails to lift his mood, even when it comes to heavy subjects like how much he misses his mother. He can't believe how she's got him smiling at happy memories of learning how to sew, rather than recalling the anxiety of his childhood and the arrest.

"You know what I mean." He argues.

"No. I really don't think I do." She prods him in the chest for effect. "I feel like I know _nothing_ about what's going on with you today. It turns out you're some master lingerie maker and you really miss sewing chat with your mum and also, by the way, you have some kind of gift for guessing a bra size just by gazing at a woman's chest?"

"Not all women. Just you."

Silence falls. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with his mouth, for him to realise what he's just said. He's just admitted to having a particular interest in Clarke's breasts.

Oh god. Now he's really gone and done it.

He searches Clarke's eyes desperately for a clue as to whether there is any hope of him fixing this. What should he do? Should he pretend this never happened? Apologise profusely? Sew her a lifetime supply of cute little panties to make it up to her?

No. Maybe not that last one.

"Just my chest, huh? You've got a special interest in my bra size?" She prompts.

He frowns, considers how to answer this one. She really doesn't seem annoyed with him, which is a puzzle. Is she trying to say she _wants_ him to be interested in her chest?

"I wasn't trying to be creepy." He protests weakly. He wonders about adding something else – how he just can't seem to help himself from checking her out, perhaps – but he figures that wouldn't help his case.

And anyway, he doesn't want her to think he's _only_ interested in her breasts. She is more than a bra size to him – she's a loyal friend and a steady support and a whole heap of fun, who just happens to have a stunning figure to boot.

She nods, looking rather calm. Her hand still seems to be at his chest, he notes – only now she's no longer jabbing at him with a finger to make her point, but rather resting her hand over his heart.

"You know, if you're so interested in how well this bra fits, you should really see what it looks like without the shirt some time." She suggests.

"What are you suggesting?" He asks carefully. He cannot afford to misunderstand this invitation. He has a feeling life won't gift him a second chance with a woman like Clarke on a planet like Earth.

She half-rolls her eyes, sort of shrugs with them as if somewhere between exasperated and fond. "Bellamy. Is this a platonic friendship bra or do you want to stop by my cabin once the kids are asleep?"

He swallows and smiles, all at once, ends up coughing a little deep in his throat. Maybe the bra wasn't too much after all, he muses.

"I'll take the second option if that's OK. Got to check out my handiwork."

"Sure. Your handiwork." She laughs. "I'll catch you later."

No. He's not about to let her slip away so easily. He might have an invitation to a spot of undressing in her cabin later tonight, but there's something he wants to try first. He's smooth and confident and cocky when it comes to all things sexual, after all.

He clasps a hand at her hip, leans in for a fast, fierce kiss on the lips. It's short but filthily sweet, eager and heated and offering her a taste of things to come.

It's quite a lot, really, for a brief kiss. A lot, but not too much.

…...

Clarke wonders whether it would be too much to strip down to her bra and panties. They're not even particularly nice panties, for goodness' sake. They're utilitarian grey Ark-issue, and they don't even vaguely match the bra she's wearing.

Not that it matters. This is the ground. People have more important things to worry about than matching underwear. But she really does miss the precious pink lace set she had on the Ark when she was about sixteen, an old Earth relic that must have cost even her well-off parents a month or so of ration points.

She does decide to strip down to her underwear in the end. Bellamy has made a big gesture today, she figures, with the gift of the bra. She reckons it's her turn to gather her courage and send him a clear message, now.

She's proud of them. She feels like they've come a long way since this morning and her stunned awkwardness about the bra. Maybe this will actually work out, she wonders. Maybe this brewing relationship that appears to be on the horizon could be a good thing to brighten life on the ground.

Once she's stripped to her underwear, she curls up beneath her furs and waits.

Yet again, she is struck by the thought that it would be lovely to have something pretty to wear. She feels like she's trying to replicate something out of the books and movies she has encountered from Earth before the bombs, some staged seduction, only she doesn't have the props or know the script. Will Bellamy think this is foolish or ridiculous? Will he be put right off his attraction to her breasts?

She hopes he finds the rest of her attractive, too. It would be sad, she thinks, to find that her hot good friend is literally just interested in her rack. She's had that experience too many times in her life, and she likes to think Bellamy isn't like that, but all the same she's nervous. She's been disappointed too often to feel confident now.

When he finally arrives, she breathes a sigh of relief. Hopefully now she can stop overthinking it and get on with enjoying his company.

"Merry Christmas." He says tiredly, as he stumbles through the door.

"You've said that to me three times already today. You can stop now."

He snorts. "Not sure I can. That was exhausting. Remind me never to celebrate Christmas again."

"Scrooge."

"Princess." He kicks his boots off, brow knotted in thought. "Have you even read _A Christmas Carol_?"

She smiles at him, overcome with a warm rush of affection. She's lying here in her underwear beneath the covers and he's just pottering around her cabin talking about classic literature. It's so much – so _Bellamy_ – that she thinks her heart might burst.

"You want to check out the bra first and tell me about books later?" She prompts him gently.

He frowns. "I'm more interested in checking out what's underneath the bra."

"Smooth." She teases, grinning at him.

He strides over, determined, but steps heavy with tiredness. She hopes he's still up for a little fun this evening, because she's been looking forward to this for a good couple of hours now, getting rather wound up. But looking at the exhaustion in his eyes and the way he walks has her wondering whether they ought to call it a night and just get some sleep together instead.

"You OK?" She asks softly. "We don't have to do this right now if you want to get some rest."

"Trust me, you are always going to beat sleep."

She laughs, pulls back the covers to reveal her half-dressed state. "Good job I made it easier for you, huh?"

He grins, eyes raking down her body with no attempt at subtlety. "Thanks, Princess. Good view."

"Are you happy with the bra?" She prompts him, sitting up so that her breasts hang naturally into the cups.

"Yes." He says, utterly dismissive, obviously distracted by all the skin on show. "It's a good fit. Like I knew it would be. Now can we get onto the part where I tell you you're hot and you get strangely flustered and then I go down on you until you're weak at the knees?"

She snorts. "You've got a high opinion of yourself, Bellamy Blake. Who says I'm going to go weak at the knees?"

"Trust me." He says, already tugging down her panties.

She does trust him, as it happens, so she goes along with it eagerly, helping him to get her panties out of the way, sitting still while he reaches around her to take off the bra. She undresses him, too, tugging his shirt over his head and his trousers down his hips, stealing urgent kisses in between. These are like the kiss they shared earlier, only even better, because now each kiss is not followed by parting and by him walking away across the camp.

Now, each kiss is simply followed by more kisses.

And when they have kissed for a while – and Bellamy has shamelessly groped her breasts for a few moments – it's time for the next part, she learns.

"Lie down." He whispers, more plea than order.

She does. She stretches out, naked, on the bed, watches in fascination as he scoots down to nestle with his head between her legs.

"You ready?" He asks, brow quirked.

"You seem very sure that this is going to rock my world." She teases.

He only smirks, and waits for her answer. She likes this most of all – the way that they are still themselves, teasing but caring, as they take this next step in their relationship.

"I'm ready." She agrees, heart already racing in anticipation.

He does rock her world, it turns out. It's not so much that he's the most technically skilled at giving oral – although he is very good, she has had plenty of other sexual encounters that were objectively just as skillful. It's more that she's carried away by everything else that does with it – the teasing that came before, the way he's toying with her breasts, now, even as he concentrates on his task.

"That's good. So good." She gasps, reaching down to tangle a hand in his hair.

He hums against her, a pleased and smug sort of sound which sends vibrations right through her, tips her closer to the edge.

This isn't going to take long. But she's just craving a little more, her nipples crying out to be treated less gently.

"Firmer here." She demands, squeezing his hand over her breast, hoping he gets the message.

He does. He stops being quite so polite, starts being more demanding. She squirms beneath his hands, desperate for more pressure, arching against his touch.

"Perfect." She pants out. "Yeah. There. So good."

She stops trying to talk, then. She bucks up against his face a couple more times, presses her chest up shamelessly into his hands. And then she's gone, tipping over the edge, sighing an embarrassingly loud sigh.

Silence falls. She lies there, recovering her breath. Bellamy eases up into a kneeling position, his hard cock jutting rather distractingly out in front of him.

She giggles. She can't help it. He just looks a bit daft, waving that thing around down there when she's nowhere near it. Is he really that hard just from going down on her? That seems inconvenient to say the least.

"You OK there?" She asks, with a pointed look at his groin.

He laughs a little. "What can I say? I like doing that. And – uh – I may have a bit of a thing for hearing you tell me I'm doing good." She smiles softly, oddly moved that he chose to share that so soon.

"I'll bear that in mind. You maybe want to deal with that?" She nods at his erection, which is bouncing as he fidgets on the bed. "I'm good to go if you are."

"Yeah? Wasn't sure if you were a one-and-done type or if you want to keep going." He prompts, evidently keen to get this right.

Again, a wave of affection. Again, her heart seems to be trying to leap out of her chest. Of course Bellamy would turn out to be considerate in bed. Of course he wants to share more about his preferences and find out what she's like as a lover, too, before he gets stuck in.

"We can keep going. I don't often come twice but we may as well try."

He nods, smiling a gentle smile, and scoots up the bed until his hips are covering hers.

"Just say if you need to stop. Or if you need anything else." He recommends, kissing her softly.

She nods, but tries to kiss him again, and ends up making a bit of a fumbled mess of it. Whatever. It doesn't seem to matter – she's pretty sure they've both having a great time.

He's slow as he eases inside of her, takes his time making sure she's comfortable and he's got the angle right. And for a moment she's almost disappointed, wonders whether the whole experience is going to be like this. As before, she finds herself craving more pressure, more firmness, more fierceness.

But then he starts moving, and her world becomes a better place.

It's not just the rhythm he builds up, either. It turns out he's something of a master at multitasking – he's not only kissing her at the same time, but also squeezing her breasts, flicking at her nipples, almost as if he's already learnt what she likes just from her brief request earlier.

She tries to respond in kind. She tries to get a read on what he likes – he gasps in pleasure when she squeezes his butt cheeks, so she keeps that in mind. He seems to be a fan of kissing that is more passionate than tidy, so she works with that. And most of all, she remembers what he said just now about how much he likes hearing her tell him he's doing good.

"That's perfect, Bellamy. You make me feel so good."

She hears his breath catch in his throat, then feels him gasp into her mouth.

Good. She tries again. "That's great. Just like that."

Another gasp, this one ending on a needy little moan. She smiles against him – she never imagined Bellamy making such frankly _undone_ noises in bed. She always thought he'd be some kind of cool, calm, cocky master of technical competence. That's the impression she got from all those hookups when they first landed. So she's pleased beyond belief to learn just how much heart and soul he puts into his lovemaking.

She squeezes at his butt, steels her courage, takes a little bit of a risk.

"So good, baby. You're perfect."

He likes that. It has him groaning, breath hitching, as he pulls away from the kiss and buries his face in her hair.

He's close now. She can sense it as she kisses his collarbone and feels his chest stuttering breathlessly beneath her lips. She's not so close, but that's fine. She doesn't need a thousand orgasms to have a good time.

Maybe she needs to tell Bellamy that.

"I've got you, baby. You can come any time. You've already taken such good care of me."

He takes her at her word. He lets go, spilling inside of her, sighing her name as he sinks down onto her chest.

She smiles to herself, scratches lightly across his shoulders. He has great shoulders, and one of these days she's going to spend a good hour or so doing nothing but kissing them. That's acceptable now that they are good bra-gifting friends who also have sex, right?

She's enjoying lying here, but Bellamy seems to have other ideas. He slips out of her, eases his weight off of her and reaches a hand down towards her crotch.

She smiles at him, half affectionate, half teasing. It's all too obvious what he's about to do, and that he seems to think he hasn't done his job unless she comes again.

"You don't need to do that." She tells him cheerfully. "I meant it – I don't often come twice."

He frowns. "Are you sure? I want it to be good for you too."

She snorts. "Honestly, Bellamy – don't you think that was already good for me?"

"It seemed like you had fun. But I can think that and still want to get you off again." He teases, but she can sense real insecurity there, too.

She gathers her courage. They've both been brave today, in their different ways. And she figures she just needs to be brave one more time to get this cleared up for both of them.

"If you want to get me off again you could do it tomorrow." She says, carefully light.

"I'd like that." He agrees, immediately and with utter conviction.

"Great. Some time when you're less tired maybe we play around and see how many times you can get me to come. But I don't think this is the night for that." She suggests.

"Standard Clarke. Already planning out our sex life. Let me know when you've scheduled your next orgasm." He jokes.

She laughs – more to help him out than because it's the funniest thing he's ever said. She thinks they're there, now. She thinks they've said what needs to be said and figured out what's going on here.

With that decided, she slips from the bed and goes to grab a cloth to clean up quickly.

"I hate to disappoint you, but I can still walk." She teases. "What was that about sending me weak at the knees?"

He laughs, makes no secret of staring at her as she pads about the room. And yet it doesn't make her self-conscious in the slightest – it's kind of lovely, to see him just sitting there and openly appreciating her.

She makes her way back to bed, slips beneath the furs. Bellamy joins her and makes no attempt at all to offer his excuses and leave, so that's a good thing. Rather, he cuddles her close and presses a few totally unnecessary and utterly beautiful kisses to her cheeks.

"So now we've figured this out and all, tell me – the bra was too much, wasn't it?" He asks, somewhere between teasing and apologetic, but the effect is rather ruined when he gives a huge yawn.

She smiles to herself, kisses him once on the chest.

"It was a lot, but not too much. It was just right." She assures him.

"Really? I'm pretty sure it contravened your gift-giving rules." He asks, half doing an impression of her arguing in full flow, by the sound of it.

"It did. But it ended up with you in my bed, so I'm not complaining."

He laughs a little, squeezes her tight. He truly does seem very happy, but she can still feel a slight tension in his shoulders, and she has a feeling she knows why.

"Go to sleep, Bellamy. I'll still be here in the morning."

"And the next morning?" He asks, trying for a light tone and not quite succeeding.

"And the next morning. You really are good in bed."

He laughs, but he still doesn't relax.

OK then. This is it. This is truly the _final_ final act of courage needed to secure this most unexpected and wonderful of Christmas gifts.

"You're a good guy, too. I mean it, Bellamy – I'm so happy we're doing this."

That's it. That's the moment his shoulders soften, the tension rushes out of him. He presses a kiss to her forehead, snuggles a little deeper into the pillow.

"Thanks, Clarke. Me too. Best Christmas ever."

She snorts. That doesn't sound like much of a claim, based on what she presumes his childhood Christmases on the Ark were like.

He dozes off soon after that. She stays awake a little longer, listening to the soothing sound of his breathing, thinking about the events of the day. A lot has happened since this morning – not only does she have a new bra, but her close friend has a crush on her just as she has a crush on him, and now they seem to be together and planning a happy future and scheduling their sex lives.

It's a lot, but it's certainly not too much. In fact, her last thought as she drifts into sleep is that everything about today has been just right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
